


The Winter of Our Discontent

by followingyourbliss



Category: Garrow's Law
Genre: Babies, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Historical, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followingyourbliss/pseuds/followingyourbliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>-The bit about William Garrow having a dread fear of smallpox, his multiple inoculations, and his mother having the disease when she was pregnant with him, are all true. As was the extremely high maternal mortality associated with the disease.</p><p>-"Spotted-fever" was a catchall term for measles, rubella, smallpox, chickenpox, and other conditions with a spotted rash common at the time. Doctor Sims is actually a very astute physician, as German measles/rubella was not well delineated in the 18th Century. His diagnosis of measles is correct, based on the symptoms Sarah describes, and Mrs. Thwaite's friend had a child with congenital rubella syndrome. Most non-medical people wouldn't know the difference, though, and Will is quite right to fear some misdiagnosis.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. West by Southwest

Three times the Angelus bell tolled, loud and clear over Fowey Moor, from Simonward to King Arthur’s Hall. William opened his eyes and rolled over on his narrow mattress. Thrice again the bell rang. Through the window rose the granite tower of Bodmin Gaol, widely esteemed to be a masterpiece of architecture: sound in proportion, innovative in design. Airy and well apportioned, with hot water, and an infirmary for the sick, it was everything a reforming minded soul should wish for in a prison. Certainly it made Newgate look the relic of an ancient age it was. But Will could not stand the sight of it. 

The third set of three chimes sounded. William sat up, his warm breath visible in the chilly air. He looked around at his empty room. Papers spilled over the table underneath a wine-stained glass. Next to it, his clothes hung over a single chair. That was all his room offered by way of furnishings.

Will braced himself and stood, his feet hitting the icy flagstone floor. Biting back a curse, he instead said a silent prayer and hurriedly began to dress. 

It was Christmas morning.

Passing the Yuletide season in remotest Cornwall, away from his loved ones, was the last thing William would have wished for. However, circumstances had demanded it. He and Sarah had discussed it at length, and the best way forward was, lamentably, clear. While clients in London chose to shun him, Will would have little business there. He was not one to be idle for long, but the enforced sabbatical was particularly inopportune, with a growing family now to provide for. His notoriety would be more useful in places where it would be a novelty. If clients appointed him only because he was famous in London - if he attracted attention solely due to curiosity, the result was still fresh cases and guineas in his pocket. 

Mr. Southouse, God rest him, had advised him to do very much the same. A lawyer must ply his trade, must build up his reputation and supply himself with varied experience, or so he had said. Two years prior, when Sarah had told Will of her resolution to remain with Sir Arthur, and had appeared no more at the Old Bailey, distraction in the form of the Northern Circuit had been most welcome. He had taken in his fair share of drink and maudlin poetry in pining for her, but had poured himself into his work successfully. It could be attempted again. It ought to be. 

So it had been decided. At the end of Michaelmas term, he would set off west for the assizes. It had been impossible for Sarah and Samuel to travel with him; bachelor’s accommodation was all he could expect. He was to stay as long as his services were in demand, and return for the birth of their new child in the spring. 

Wretchedly did the pair submit to the wisdom of this solution. Their little family was so recently made whole, and had already undergone such trials, to now be pulled asunder once more. Though it was to be a temporary arrangement, they both found the whole prospect quite disagreeable, and racked their brains for several days altogether in the hope of finding an alternative. But it could not be helped. 

Will had been reliably informed that Cornwall was one of the mildest places in England to pass a winter, which was a comforting thought. But his accommodation, the Leeward Inn – named, he later learned, with great irony – seemed determined to refute that reputation. The windows leaked when it rained, and the wind, of which there was no shortage, whistled through the cracks in the mortar and down the chimney, snuffing out his candles and extinguishing the hearth. 

Arriving at the inn two days before Christmas, Will found himself inadvertently pulled into the celebration of Tom Bawcock’s Eve. The innkeeper was native of a small village south of Penzance, and insisted on bringing such local celebrations to “The North.” Thus, the tavern only served one dish that night, the traditional stargazy pie. 

William had been soaked to the skin and starving from his long journey. But try as he might, he could not quite bring himself to enjoy his meal. Not with the dead-eyed fish heads poking through the crust at regular intervals. Will did not care for pilchards under the best of circumstances, but particularly not when they were staring up at him from a greasy pie.

It was not an auspicious beginning to the Western Circuit. 

After church service, Christmas day passed in reflection and letter-writing. In the evening, Will cheered himself by opening the parcel Sarah had sent with him. It was a pair of bands, starched and snow white. Enclosed was a note:

_Dear W.,_

_You neglected to mention how worn and yellowed your old bands have become! I will try to do something for them, but in the meanwhile these will do. In due course I shall be buying you the lace kind, and although I own some small facility with needles and bobbins, not enough, I fear, to match your demand for it._

_Merry Christmas my love,_

_S. (and S.)_

Such a jocular note, sent from a lady to her lover on the advent of their separation, might be thought by others as lacking proper ardor and words of woe. But Will smiled to read it, and brought the paper to his lips, only lamenting that the letter was not she who wrote it. 

With the crisp new stock tied around his neck, he stood proudly in robe and periwig, possessed as he was of this reminder of Sarah’s support and confidence. The finishing touch on his ensemble was Mr. Southouse’s pocketwatch, its hands ticking a tattoo of _fiat justitia ruat caelum._

With these talismans, Will became a force somehow even more to be reckoned with. The Cornish barristers, unused to the Garrow cross-examination, wilted in their seats as William reduced prosecutorial testimonies to ashes, time and again. It was not long into Hilary term, therefore, that his reputation had spread, such that people came from Newquay, Truro, and beyond, to witness his defence of a prisoner. 

The real difficulty in court was the same as it had been in London. Money and politics shaped the destiny of men here, as they seemed to everywhere. One of William’s clients was a retired army captain, a wounded veteran of the American War of Independence. He stood accused of conducting a smuggling operation on his lands near Portreath. The evidence was scant, only a runner wrecked off his coast in a storm, quickly ransacked by locals. But another landowner, from a prominent local family, was doing everything in his power to pin the offense on the prisoner. The captain had ruefully explained to Will, that quite apart from there being no love lost between himself and his rival, the other man was simply making a good business decision. The captain’s land encompassed the best coves on the north shore for thirty miles. He had no heir to oversee his concerns. Therefore, the cost of bribing witnesses was more than offset by the resulting shipping monopoly the landowner would be able to cultivate if the captain were to be hanged. 

In addition to the rather generous fee he stood to collect, William developed a true passion for this case. And since the parties involved were such consequential persons, it was much talked of in the local area. However, Will could not hope for such laudable and fulfilling briefs every time. He was compelled to be more mercenary. For each prostitute he represented, accused of attacking a man who had invariably violated her most indecently first, for every penniless pauper who received William’s intercession gratis, he was forced to defend rich men against charges of illegal fence building and misrepresenting the pedigrees of hunting dogs. The squabbling of the gentry paid too handsomely to be ignored.


	2. The Bonds of Fellowship

Will was not alone in testing out his fortune in Cornwall; fellow law-men from the east had taken the lodgings on either side of his cramped room. Richard Paulding and Lawrence Crawford were two lively young men William’s own age, who seemed somehow much younger, more carefree. Will had not given them much thought when he first arrived. It was desirable to make connections that could help him in his profession, but they did not excite his attention much beyond the customary courtesies due any colleagues. His purpose in the west was not to make friends, but to win as many cases and earn as much as he possibly could, while still remaining true to his conscience. 

They, however, took a great deal of notice of _him_. William was not their social equal, but a famous London barrister, even one of low birth and no education, was still an object of interest. And he had had the effrontery to take the side opposite theirs in the courtroom, and to win. After they had expressly selected the briefs that all but guaranteed victory! 

Despite Paulding’s and Crawford’s sour feelings at being bested professionally, they still made overtures of friendship to Garrow, if only because, to their minds, the society in Bodmin was stultifyingly dull and unvarying. However, their relative situations in life, their customary habits and temperaments, were so at odds with Will’s, that any fellowship with him was quite confounded. They thought him a prig, to abstain from even from the smallest wager, and as they were always to be found at a card table, or ringside at some fisticuffs, he found their habits hopelessly dissolute. 

“‘Tis but a flutter!” Paulding enjoined him on more than one occasion. “You need only spare a coin, man, and if you follow my advice, mark my words, you’ll treble your investment.”

But Will had declined. He saw Paulding begging loans from Crawford constantly, as these strategies lost his own “investments” far more often than they succeeded. And quite apart from any financial concerns, the two did not limit their scope to races or the sports of men, but would bet on fighting cockerels and bear-baiting as well. Will could not repress his disgust at being invited to partake in any "entertainment" that induced animals to tear each other to pieces. His unguarded temper upon being asked put a firm end to any hope of amity between the men. 

The two barristers continued their overtures, however now only in jest. If Garrow was not of use as an amusing companion, they thought he might at least prove a figure of fun. Paulding took great enjoyment therefore, in returning to the inn with pig’s blood about his head, roaring, “Garrow! Save me from this cur!” while Crawford played the part of the Mastiff tormenting him. Will only rolled his eyes and went into his room without passing comment. 

On another day, however, they approached him quite seriously, and said, “See here, Garrow, we’ve come over to your cause. We have taken it upon ourselves to emancipate this poor chicken.” Then they threw the decapitated body of a losing gamecock at him. Will let fly a few choice words at them on this occasion.

Gambling was not their only vice, either. 

“Come with us, Garrow, we mean to go trawling for trull!” Crawford cried drunkenly one evening. 

Will turned from them so his expression would not be fodder for their amusement.

“I thank you for your...kind invitation, but my heart is spoken for.”

“Your heart?” Paulding slurred. “What poetry is this, pray? Don’t be a sop, man. We are not speaking of hearts, but rather _cocks_. Surely yours is not spoken for this night?”

Will cringed at the sound of Crawford’s congratulatory laughter. 

“But wait!” Crawford said suddenly. “Remember what the papers have printed about his mistress...the lady has quite unmanned him! His member is no longer in his possession!”

“Never fear!” Paulding replied, slapping his knee, barely able to finish his sentence for laughing. “Recall we gave him that fine cock just the other day! You may use that to tup the ladies!” 

They guffawed mightily, and took it in turns to crow like roosters and make lewd gestures as Will, silently fuming, made his way down the passage and into his room. 

Once inside, he yanked off his coat and waistcoat, throwing them across the chair in frustration. The flame on the lone candle fluttered, as he sank down on his bed in a huff. Sleep would not come easily, but neither could he summon enough concentration to attend to his cases. 

If they had spoken one more word about Sarah, just one, it might have come to blows. But they had aimed their ridicule squarely at himself, and Will knew it had been right to simply avoid any further engagement. It would come to no good. Especially as they were already into their cups. 

He tried ignore their insults, to inure himself to their insinuations. But their words had had an effect. 

He sighed, and his thoughts turned to a few nights before, when he had made a third for dinner at the home of his client the army captain. The captain’s wife was a young lady who, while not Sarah's equal in intellect or elegance, nevertheless reminded William of her, in her humor, spirit, and freely given opinions. Will reckoned she was just the sort of girl Sarah would find agreeable as a dinner companion, a thought immediately followed by a wave of regret. When he left the house of his two kind hosts, William did spend a restless hour walking the shore, taking in its beauty but appreciating none. Cornwall was a very fine place, but he could not see it. 

Will had no wish to go to a brothel with Paulding and Crawford, but their very asking had put a notion in his head, a notion that could be nothing but disappointed. 

His situation was made more difficult still from the recollection of his last evening in London, an evening that had begun so sweetly, and with such promise. Will ached to think of that night, pressed tightly against Sarah, her breath warming his skin, the need building between them...and then the sudden crash from the other room.

Samuel had not been hurt when he climbed out of his cradle and knocked over the fire iron stand, but he was wide awake, and would not settle for anything, unless taken into their bed. Sarah had given him a look of sympathy over Sam’s head, and William responded with something philosophical about fatherhood that he could not even recollect now. He felt somehow that on account of that night, this whole time of separation he had been frozen in a state of frustrated anticipation. 

He jiggled his leg and rubbed his numb hands together. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of this. Of the days, the weeks, since last he saw her, held her, kissed her lips…


	3. Friends in Low Places

Somehow Will had drifted off to sleep, because he found himself woken by the return of his two fellow lodgers, and his candle burnt down to a stump. He had always been a light sleeper, but the thinness of his blanket, and the cold emptiness beside him did make him even more so. 

He pulled the blanket up around his ears, and thought of how wondrously warm it had been to lay next to Sarah at night. Especially now that she was with child. “I’ve heard it does heat the blood,” Sarah had explained. But not her feet! Those were as frigid as ever. Still, he would have gladly submitted to her rubbing her cold toes against his leg then, if only because his yelp would be followed by the sound of her laughter, and a rain of warm kisses against his neck by way of an apology. He could almost hear her laughing now.

But no. That was not Sarah’s voice. 

Paulding and Crawford had not returned alone.

Will threw an arm over his face. The simpletons! The absolute blockheads! 

He could hear two female voices, tittering and shushing each other, and then a low murmur, and the sounds of lips smacking loudly together.

The barristers had brought company back from the brothel. They knew the innkeeper’s ruling on the subject of guests. Even over the first, unforgettable meal of starrey pie he had warned Will that this was a “respectable house” and that he would “not abide any indecencies.”

William was certain the innkeeper would judge that Crawford and Paulding lying with prostitutes under his roof, the same roof under which his wife and three children presently slept, rather fit that description.

The sound of doors opening and closing on either side of him told Will that they had separated. Crawford wasted no time in formalities. The bed began creaking rhythmically not half a minute from his entering the room. 

Will scrambled to wrap the pillow around his ears. The walls were so very _thin_. And the harlot...well, she was throwing herself into her part. He had to give her her due; she was a model of efficiency. Her sounds were theatrical, an act designed to rouse the man’s excitement and complete the business as quickly as possible. His estimation of the barrister who brought her there, however, were not nearly so complaisant. 

Crawford’s voice now grew louder to match his companion’s. Will could not help but note, with bewilderment, that he seemed to be falling for her ruse. But then Crawford was, at times, a shockingly stupid fellow.

William endeavored to ignore it, squeezing the pillow more tightly around his head, and began to hum the first tune he could think of. But he still could hear. Mercifully, Crawford had little stamina, and it was all over with soon.

William sighed and rolled over, hoping to forget what he had just overheard, and coax a few more hours of sleep. Before he even settled, his eyes snapped open.

“You’re in for a treat, my girl!” boomed Paulding’s voice from the other room.

This could no longer be endured. What Crawford and Paulding did with their time was of little consequence to him, though they made pretense of being guardians of law and moral order. Still, had they no sense? Hadn’t they any shame? If they wished to drink and rut all night long, why did they not stay at a bawdy house, instead of subjecting others to their carryings-on?

Will sat upright in bed, fuming. His outrage had at least one fortunate effect, in sending hot blood pulsing through his ears, so that he did not hear the details of what was transpiring. 

Paulding’s “treat” was equally short-lived, and, if Will was any judge, one-sided. Pitiful! Had these men never lain with a woman who was not paid to pretend to enjoy it? His anger and humiliation grew until he held the bedframe in an iron grip. He did not know if Crawford had a wife, but Paulding had mentioned having one. And William’s thoughts thus turned to other such men, men like Sir Arthur Hill, for whom fidelity in marriage was just as one-sided an obligation as bringing pleasure in bed to one’s partner.

Will felt himself grab his raggedy brown banyan, and pull it on over his nightshirt. He left his room and entered the passageway without having really conceived of a reason why. But he found himself standing in front of Crawford’s room and his arm moved of its own accord.

He pounded on the door.

“Damnation!” Crawford exclaimed from inside, but Will did not let up, and continued knocking.

A few moments later, the man opened the door wearing nothing but breeches buttoned the wrong way. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Will brushed past him, ignoring the question. The harlot made a noise of surprise and pulled the sheets more closely around herself, but Will’s eyes went to the opposite end of the room, where he strode purposefully. He gathered up Crawford’s clothes from the floor and quitted the room, with Crawford watching him, thunderstruck. 

By this time, Paulding had come to stand in the doorway of his room with a bedsheet around his waist, watching the commotion.

Will went straight towards him, and for a moment, Paulding backed away, appearing afraid that Will would strike him. Consequently Will was permitted to pass by unimpeded. He scooped up Paulding’s clothes as well, went to the window, opened the casement, and tossed everything out into the cold night air. He did not watch where the clothing fell, nor did he care. William closed the window firmly and turned, catching the eye of Paulding’s female companion, who was still dressed in stays and petticoat.

He startled in recognition. She was a recent client of his. Indeed, the bruises from her accuser were not yet faded from her throat.

He inclined his head. “Apologies for the intrusion, Miss Jones.”

She put a hand to her chest, and smiled. “No apologies are necessary for you, Mr. Garrow.”

Her look was meaningful. Will dared not stay. He had already been acquainted with Miss Jones’ abiding gratitude for his assistance with her case, and he wagered she might attempt to do so again. William gave her an uneasy smile, quitted the room, and made his way down the passageway with Crawford gaping at him.

“You scoundrel!” Paulding exclaimed. “Blast your eyes, Garrow!”

Will's gaze briefly met Paulding’s, but then he turned, and looked to where Crawford's hastily dressed companion was leaning in the doorframe.

“Have these gentlemen paid in advance?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Then if you have the means to do so, I would advise you and Miss Jones to leave this place. The innkeeper may arise from his bed at this uproar, and finding you both here will displease him greatly, I am sure.”

Miss Jones sauntered past them then, a shawl looped about her bare arms.

“Quite right, sir. Perhaps you should accompany us?” she hinted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “So that we shall not meet with misfortune on the way?” 

William went wide-eyed at this unhappy quandary. He considered the implication in her request, as well as the dangers two young ladies might encounter on the road... Gallantry won over self-preservation. “If you require it,” he said. “For your safety, I shall.”

“Heyday, this is a shabby trick!” Crawford blurted. “You cannot bring them away; they’re _our_ harlots!” 

Miss Jones ignored Crawford. Instead she gave Will a long pitying look, then smiled. “No sir; I’ve a reputation now for giving as good as I get. No manjack who prizes having both ears to his head will dare quarrel with Jenny Jones! Don’t put yourself out unless you have the inclination for some obliging company tonight.” She linked arms with her friend and spared Will one more moment before they departed, viewing him with an appraising eye. “Shame...”

Will breathed a sigh of relief to see them go. He could hear a distant floorboard creaking. Someone else was awake, and no doubt they were come to investigate the source of the commotion.

Paulding rounded on him. “What do you mean by this! You...you rotten villain!”

“I’ve done you a service in sending them away! The innkeeper would have turned you out, and thrashed you for good measure!”

“Nay, we would thrash him!” cried Crawford.

“Oh yes, Garrow, what assistance you do provide!” Paulding mocked. “And the business of our clothes?”

Will considered, then shrugged. “That was for the cock.”

Paulding pointed sharply. “Ho, yes! I see now what this is. We’ve offended your delicate, womanly sensibilities, Garrow? And you mean to have your revenge by this humiliation?”

“Oh no,” said William serenely. “This is no humiliation. That I save for court tomorrow.”

Paulding colored. Crawford paled.

Will brushed past the former, stopping briefly as he opened his door.

“If your performances tomorrow are reflective of tonight’s efforts,” he said pointedly, “you will indeed be disappointing...but at least we know it will be of _short_ duration.” 

In the solitude of his room once again, Will took off his banyan and lay down for bed with a smile on his lips. Paulding and Crawford were now left to explain to the innkeeper what all the uproar had been about, and exactly how it was they had come to be in the corridor in their present states of drunkenness and undress, with their clothes tumbling across the windy moor. 

They might very well blame him, or invent some plausible history. However, Will wagered that the innkeeper would not fail to observe, a reticule laying in the passage, quite deliberately left behind by the clever Miss Jenny Jones.


	4. Spring Fever

After the incident with Miss Jones, Paulding and Crawford found themselves pressed into other accommodations, and thereafter gave Will a wide berth. This solved one of his difficulties, but uncovered another. Apart from appointments in Bodmin, and the occasional dinner given by a grateful client, he was left with nothing by way of companionship. Will was certainly grateful to be relieved of the pair’s boorish attentions, and found it most agreeable to have some peace in which to sleep and study his briefs. But it was not long before the silence began to prey on him. 

The weather was too foul and windy for much in the way of walks, and the nights were long and dark. Supping at the local tavern brought him into the society of tin merchants, miners, sailors, and fishermen. None of them had time to spare the garrulous Mr. Garrow. It became such that Will scarcely had the opportunity to speak two words together when not in court, and spent every evening by the fireside, reading through a stack of novels, from _The Man of Feeling_ , to _Evelina_ , to _The Sorrows of Young Werther_. 

Reading provided some diversion, but it did little to slake his loneliness. Desperate for connection, William picked up the quill, and quickly became a model correspondent. He wrote to Sarah continually, and his pen was so effusive that his letters were more ink than paper by the end. He wrote to George, desirous that their new friendship be continued. He considered writing to Silvester, but was unable to think of a pretense, and thus had to content himself with reading accounts of Bailey trials in the papers. 

William even wrote to his sisters in India, conscious of being unable to recall the last time he had done so. He wrote without the hope of a reply, for letters going so far went astray as often as they reached their destination, and it would be many months altogether until he could possibly expect an answer.

Therefore it was in Sarah’s letters that he looked for his salvation, and she did not disappoint. Even at a distance she provided Will with much advice and support concerning his cases. He was frequently struck by the correctness of her insights, as well as by the notion that he had allied himself with a lady of uncommon brilliance. 

She of course did not restrict herself to the law, and wrote to him often of trifling matters at home. These were nothing that required immediate attention, but were of paramount consequence to Will. He seized each letter as it was delivered, abandoning whatever papers he was working on to read.

_Dear Sir,_

_I have a matter of the greatest import to acquaint you with. Samuel has now a pair of shoes. They are red. But I shall let him tell you all about it when you return. He will be happy to do so. He shall do so, I assure you. He has told me of it today these eight dozen times at least. I love him dearly, but he can be such a little popinjay!_

_Your army captain seems as fortunate in his choice of wife as his choice of barrister. But can she cook as I do? There are not many women who can replicate my culinary achievements, you must own that._

Will had written to her of the strife with Paulding and Crawford, but had evaded the question of whether he had returned Miss Jones’ reticule. The truth was that he wished to avoid the awkwardness of meeting with her, especially alone. He did not fear being overpowered in any way, but the matter required the utmost delicacy. 

Sarah, knowing him all too well, advised: 

_William, as you are altogether very well-looking, and are in the habit of saving their very lives, many handsome female clients will naturally be in a fair way to fall in love with you. This hazard of your occupation you must simply learn to live with. It is your cross to bear. I daresay there are more onerous burdens in this world!_

_Remember that Miss Jones’ livelihood depends on the success of those advances you wish to avoid. Of course I do not propose that you let her succeed in procuring you for a customer, but you must not let your uneasiness at her professional duty keep you from doing yours._

The wisdom of this response he could not dispute. But he did reply that it would be easier if he had a suitable chaperone, and that if only she were at liberty to accompany him, she could be present to shield his innocent eyes from any corruption. 

Sarah answered that she would hardly be an appropriate chaperone in such a case, as she had, after all, been his primary corrupting force!

It had taken much strength of conviction for Will not to reply with longing that he wished she _would_ come and corrupt him. Corrupt him morning, noon and night if she so chose. He thought perhaps that was taking the jest too far, particularly as he was perfectly earnest in this wish. But it was a futile one. She could not come, and he knew he must look to her letters for company. They were no substitute for the genuine being, but he cherished the occasions when they did appear.

On one such occasion, Sarah sent with her letter a page from _The Monitor_ , a London paper of the most scurrilous reputation.

_Dearest Todd-Fox,_

_I enclose, for your edification, an article from one of Fleet Street’s finest publications._

_I had no idea I was so clever, nor so mercenary._

_Signed,_

_The vixen (or is it the hen?)_

The story was entitled:

**The Bailey Fox Flies the Coop!**  
 **-or-**  
 **Henpecked Garrow Plys his Trade in The West:**  
 **A TRUE account of the LOW situation in which those INFAMOUS Persons of Crimcon sessions Last now Unhappily Find Themselves**

The article went on to retell, in exaggerated fashion, the particulars of his history with Sarah and Sir Arthur, from their first meetings to Crimcon. It was not even a passing likeness. There were encounters described which had been fabricated from whole cloth, words put into his mouth that he would never say...the entirety so clearly the work of invention that he was quite prepared for the follies came next.

It had come to the attention of the press, that after Lady Sarah’s unsuccessful (“lunatic” was the word the writer had chosen) Chancery suit, she and Garrow had been seen about town with the child, in plain sight. An investigation had been undertaken, and the truth could now be revealed to the stunned public.

It was as they suspected. Garrow had been well pleased with allowing Sir Arthur to have responsibility for the child he himself had fathered, that like the cuckoo, he schemed to have his son provided for by another in such exalted circumstances, to one day take the title of the man whom he evidently despised so much. 

But Lady Sarah, so the story went, had had a change of heart, and would not be happy separated from her child. She had worked on Garrow, using all her feminine wiles and cleverness, and he had relented. For although he had seduced her, she had ultimately gotten the better of him. She had “ _outfoxed the Bailey fox._ ” 

Garrow had finally admitted all to a devastated Sir Arthur, that his suspicions on the child’s paternity had been true. And the man of the hour, the hero who had uncovered the misappropriation of funds in Trinidad by the scoundrel Lord Melville, had taken pity on the two who had crossed him, and given them the child that he had grown to love as if it were his own.

Lady Sarah, having so firmly ensnared Garrow, could now direct him in whatever way she pleased, and it pleased her to send him to Cornwall. He was now living in the most reduced circumstances, while she spent his money profligately. 

Finally they described his current style of living, and for the first time Will felt a jolt of recognition. The account was embellished, but it hewed too closely to the truth to be entirely the imaginings of the writer. William was most certain that he was being spied upon. 

There was a post script: 

_It was our friend Mr. Silvester who was kind enough to bring this article to my attention. He came to our home on a spurious errand of Arthur’s, showed it me, and did also pay me a most unsubtle compliment on the state of my figure (Be not alarmed, therefore, if rumors now do swirl about London concerning kits, or chicks, or cuckoos eggs - for I know not which animal they are comparing us to now)._

Will did not take this narrative in the light tone Sarah had probably intended. Given what he had just learned, he did not find Silvester’s visit quite as innocent as it might have otherwise appeared. Uneasy as he was, Sarah did not seem so. He trusted in her judgment, therefore, and made no mention of it in his reply. 

He did, however, tease her concerning an incident some months past, in which he assisted her with the untangling of a wool skein. He had held his hands quite still as she wound the threads around them, wrapping one by one. Then she had taken shameful advantage of his captivity, attacking his lips without remorse, before laughing, and pushing him down to the floor to continue the onslaught. _You see_ , he wrote, _you are not quite as innocent of ensnaring me as you made pretense. But what excellent chains you employ! If this conduct is how you do ensnare me, I entreat you most ardently that you should never cease..._

And so it went. Will attempted to ration out these letters, but could not help devouring them once begun. Saving them proved equally impossible. He once placed a letter, still sealed, upon the table in his cramped room, and endeavored to read the transcript of the last Tuesday sennight sessions. He only reached as far as _“and the aforementioned defendant James Perry, by force of arms, on the King’s highway, and in disturbance of the King’s peace,”_ before capitulating to curiosity.

It just so happened that upon the rendering of a satisfactory verdict in his retired army captain case, his letter to Sarah, full of triumph, did not receive a reply. At first Will suspected his post might have been misdirected, but when four such letters of his had been sent, and he still had not had a word from her, he began to conceive of some deeper trouble.

Finally a letter had come, and he wrenched it open to read: 

_Dear Will,_

_Forgive me the lateness of my reply, and any feelings of anxiety my silence has aroused. I assure you that any letter I could have written during this time of silence would have done more harm than good. Any words I could have committed to paper would have been lies of omission, or else raise in you an alarm that would be all the more distressing for their being nothing you could do to allay its cause. But be not anxious, my love. We are now all well._

_Samuel has had spotted-fever--_

Will’s heart began thumping in his chest upon reading these words. Was it the smallpox? His eyes flitted over the page to see if the letter contained any mention of the deadly disease. He could not see anything, the paper shook so in his hand. So he sank down to sit on his bed and began reading again where he left off. 

_\--and for many days altogether it had a grip on him that would not be shaken. He was very ill indeed, with such red eyes, coughing without ceasing, and crying without consolation. I was sent away by Dr. Sims, in fear that I might catch it. You may well guess how uneasily I consented to this arrangement. By luck, our neighbor from one floor below, a Mrs. Thwaite, heard of our difficulty, and as she had a child also afflicted - for it is, I am told, to be found everywhere in London at present - she did offer to take Samuel and nurse him alongside her little daughter._

_She is a very kind woman, William, and her husband also, a good-hearted man. Their kindnesses to me I will never be able to repay. It was they who convinced me to leave my treasure in their care, for I was most unwilling. I did proclaim to all that I had the spotted-fever before, and so was not likely to catch it again. And it was of little consequence to me if I did, whilst my son was in need of my care. Dr. Sims was hopeless of a change in my position, but Mrs. Thwaite showed me sense. She related to me the story of a friend of hers, whose mild case during her time of confinement caused her child to be born deaf, blind and sickly. Do not suppose I had forgotten our little one, Will! Only remember I was in the midst of my distress over Samuel._

William’s grip on the paper tightened. His hand went to cover his mouth and he took a steadying breath from between his fingers.

Sarah did not know. He had never told her that his own mother had been grievously afflicted with smallpox while carrying him. The doctor had warned William’s father he was likely to lose both his wife and the child. The disease was dangerous enough, but in her condition, even in the strongest women, the danger was compounded. Providence had smiled upon Will’s mother. Not one in seven such women survived, but she had by some fortune found herself in the happier company.

William’s dread of the disease was such that he had been inoculated four times over the course of his life, but each time to no discernable effect.

The thought of Sarah in the same danger as his own departed mother, made more vulnerable by being with child, his child...

He read on.

_So Samuel was removed to the home of the Thwaites, and I was under orders not to go near. I could hear him crying, Will. In our rooms I paced, hearing him all the while, and when all went quiet, day or night, you can guess how my imaginings grew more and more despairing._

_Maria, their eldest daughter, came to me with regular news, but if not for the visits of your young protege, George, and of Luisa Calderon, I would have been beside myself (They both send their compliments and wishes for your swift return)._

_However, you may becalm any remaining fears. I write to you now in the most jubilant of spirits! Samuel has rallied, and apart from the fading blemishes upon his skin, one might never know he was ever ill. The dear creature has quite as much spirit and vivacity as ever!_

_I am only in want of you now, to make this picture of happiness complete. Hilary term cannot come to an end soon enough for my liking. Perhaps I shall ask Dr. Sims if Samuel would not recover more quickly in another climate. I may secure his prescription for a journey to Falmouth._

_But I must close soon. It is rude of me to devote all this paper to my concerns without once speaking of your many excellent letters. So I will say, I was truly delighted to hear of your successes, for your clients’ sake, as well as your own. But I never entertained the slightest doubt, my own Dearest Will._

_Yours with all affection,_

_Sarah_

How could such a letter be read with tranquility? How could he not be shocked and moved, by turns? And how could he possibly stay? 

In his mind, he made the plans to climb aboard the next carriage bound for London. His leaving would not be much lamented. His cases could be taken by another. The new advocate would, in all probability, not fare as well as Will would, but that simply could not be helped. He needed to be by Sarah. He needed to see her and Samuel safe and well. How could he have ever thought to leave them, at such a tender time as this? 

As he calculated the number of hours and minutes until he could make his return to London, a voice inside intervened. How could he abandon his clients, when so many of them faced the gallows? What kind of reputation would follow him home if he let them swing? How could he face Sarah again if he did...how could he face himself? His conscience pricked painfully. 

“Preparation must be made,” he spoke to himself.

Hastily, he took up his quill and ink and sat down to write:

_My Dear Sarah,_

_Your letter has only now come. Is Samuel truly on the mend? I praise God for it! I praise you and our dear neighbors for it! But pray, what sort of fever is this disease? Is it the smallpox? I beg forgiveness for the unevenness of these lines. My hand shakes. I fear you are withholding some terrible part of it. If you have found yourself afflicted, you must tell me so at once!_

_I am making plans to leave this place. Cornwall is nothing to me. I will finish these cases and take no more. I would leave this hour if not for the wretched fate of my clients if I do so. But a word from you, any word, and I shall be by your side. I wish only I was there by you now._

He wrote his closing and quickly blotted the ink, folded his letter, sealed it, and was out the door to post it before even a minute had passed. 

In the days that followed, Will waited vigilantly for the post-boy to bring him Sarah’s reply. The weather had turned particularly unprepossessing, and he heard of there being heavy snows in Devon, which were proving a hindrance to all manner of conveyance. However, her letter did come, and without delay. 

_Dear William,_

_Do not fear. The doctor says he is quite convinced it was not the smallpox. His diagnosis is measles, and he says it is “certainly not the German variety,” as he had feared. I knew not that the Germans were exporting their own measles! In any case, the danger has passed, Will. I have not a single sign of disease, excepting the mildly unpleasant effects of my condition, the specifics of which I shall refrain from mentioning!_

_You must not take to heart what I wrote in the midst of such a strong sensibility. I am heedful of the notion of having alarmed you unnecessarily, and am beginning to regret relaying the history to you. Your solicitude does you credit, Will, but it is misplaced. Samuel is quite recovered, I assure you. Whereas he was listless and distressed, now he wishes only to run about and be merry. He does tug at me and cry to go outside in this snow fall. We neither of us are in danger of illness, unless I consent to his requests! _

_But I know you will not rest easy, and you look to me to convince you to stay. How can you ask it? It is right and sensible that you should, yet I cannot argue in favor of this course. I miss your company far too much for that. You must discover your own strength to remain away from us. You find me with none to wish it._

_Sarah_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The bit about William Garrow having a dread fear of smallpox, his multiple inoculations, and his mother having the disease when she was pregnant with him, are all true. As was the extremely high maternal mortality associated with the disease.
> 
> -"Spotted-fever" was a catchall term for measles, rubella, smallpox, chickenpox, and other conditions with a spotted rash common at the time. Doctor Sims is actually a very astute physician, as German measles/rubella was not well delineated in the 18th Century. His diagnosis of measles is correct, based on the symptoms Sarah describes, and Mrs. Thwaite's friend had a child with congenital rubella syndrome. Most non-medical people wouldn't know the difference, though, and Will is quite right to fear some misdiagnosis.


	5. Not By Bread Alone

Sarah’s letter of reassurance only delayed the inevitable. When Will was resolved on a course of action, there was very little that could dissuade him from it, and he was resolved to go home as quickly as might be. He was, of course, determined to do right by his clients, but after their trials concluded, there was nothing further to keep him from London. 

Now that the idea of Sarah and Samuel being in some danger without him had been put in his head, he began to conceive of it everywhere. What if Sarah began her labors early, or met with some other misfortune and was without the means to communicate her distress? Samuel was too young to fetch help. As much as William could rely on the goodness of their neighbors, and the intercession of George and Louisa, they could not be always at the ready. In the event of some sudden calamity, Sarah might be all alone for days.

In some deep recess of his mind, Will must have possessed an awareness that this resolution to be by her side was more for his own peace of mind than inspired by clear-sighted reason. If he had been present for Samuel’s bout of spotted-fever, not a thing would have been improved by it. Indeed, he only would have been in an agitation over the possibility of it’s being smallpox, and placed in danger of catching the measles himself. 

However, William had no doubts of this being the proper thing to do. So when the time arrived, he sent a letter ahead to Sarah, settled his accounts, bade goodbye to the West, and climbed aboard the first equipage headed for the capital.

The road was in poor condition, and the journey was harried by thrown shoes, rain, ice and mud. When the carriage stopped to change horses, Will changed carriages. He resolved that no time should be lost with such trivialities. William slept in the coaching inn only if no other carriage were available. If he could, he slept in the coach, waking only when it lurched off the road or arrived at a way station. Meals were a flying affair. Cornwall was to be lauded for its half-moon shaped pastries, which Will had taken a liking to, and which sustained him for most of his journey. No highwaymen delayed him, only stuck wheels and cautious drivers. 

As they trundled across Hounslow Health and reached the outskirts of London, the city welcomed him home by blanketing his carriage in snow. The sky was already darkening fast, though his pocketwatch told it was no more than four in the evening. He could almost see the hearth burning, feel his loved ones next to him in the warm bed. His stomach growled, begging for another pasty, but there were none left to give it. 

Not long now.

The carriage pulled to a stop near Christ Church Greyfriars, mere paces from his home at Warwick Court. There were Sarah and Samuel now. He wondered if they were expecting him. Perhaps they were at the window, hoping to catch sight of him. Or perhaps he would take them unawares, and sweep them both into his arms before they could even give shouts of delighted surprise.

He alighted, and assisted the coachman with his small trunk and suitcase, glad of his greatcoat in all this weather. Visibility was greatly reduced, and so William wished the driver Godspeed as he set off once more. 

At the door to No. 20, Will brushed his sleeves, and took off his hat to shake out the snow that had collected in its brim. Bundling his greatcoat in his arms, he entered the drafty building. 

His long strides quickly ate up the distance as he bounded up the stairs, his trunk swinging wildly. He paused once, as he met with a woman carrying a young child, and bowed low to her, thinking that she might be Mrs. Thwaite, who had bestowed such kindnesses on his family. She smiled as if she could guess who he was, but lacking an introduction, they parted without speaking. 

Will reached his landing, placed his baggage, and fished the key from his pocket. He unlatched the door and opened it silently, taking in the sights the dancing candlelight illuminated in his presently unoccupied front room. 

As he brought his trunk and suitcase inside, William thought of his recent accommodations, and was struck by how full the room was by comparison. It was not so much that it was filled with things, though it certainly was: with furniture crammed wherever there was room, toys scattered in a corner, and baby linen stacked high, there was barely enough room to pass by without knocking something over. But what had truly absorbed Will’s notice was that their home was also bursting with the more ephemeral delights: it was full of warmth, and of light, and the delightful scents of rosemary and bread yeast.

Despite its snugness, there was a tidiness and order to the room (save Samuel’s playthings). Will’s law papers and books had been straightened and put in their places during his absence. The desk was polished and the broken quills either mended or thrown away. There were a few crumbs still upon the cutting board, and a nearly finished baby cap with yarn trailing onto the floor. Will smiled, recognizing the skein it came from as his fetters on the occasion of Sarah’s ambush. But these little imperfections were only the signs of a home that was well lived in, and the memories of the times they’d shared.

One detail was out of place, however. The kitchen table had been covered by blankets, held to each other and to the table legs by clothes-pegs. It was now a makeshift shelter rather than a place for eating. It also appeared to be a suitable hiding place for a certain young fellow, whose silhouette could be against the cloth.

Will came over to it, crouched down and pulled up the curtain.

Samuel was seated there, his back to Will, dragging his wooden horse around by its string.

“Hello there,” Will whispered.

The child turned. He appeared as hale and hearty as ever. The spots were almost faded from his skin, looking more like freckles than the sign of a foul disease. 

Samuel cocked his head, and Will thought for a moment the child might cry, not remembering who he was after so long an absence. Two months was a lifetime for a young child like Samuel, and he was grown so big and so matured in his features, he was almost a different boy now. 

“Rwed schoose,” Sam said suddenly, pointing to his foot. “Rwed!” And he pivoted on his little backside, and stuck out his shoe for Will to examine.

William chuckled softly at this, thinking on Sarah’s letter. Perhaps Samuel was not so very different after all.

“I see that!” Will said, grasping the little red shoe, and appraising it. “Very handsome indeed.”

This was all Sam required for happiness. He beamed, and Will thought on how his whole ordeal had been worthwhile, if only to see that darling smile. Samuel grabbed hold of Will’s two fingers and tugged at them, crawling further under the table, coaxing Will to go under the table as well.

"Will!" came Sarah’s delighted voice from the bedroom door.

He turned to her with a grin, still in a crouch on the floor. He meant to remark upon the tent she had constructed, or Samuel himself, but one look at her appearance and he quite forgot what he was going to say.

The smile slid from his face. He disengaged from Samuel’s grasp and stood. He stared, his mouth hanging open in a stupid manner.

Sarah had been moving towards him, but at this response, she flinched, and took a step backward.

"Am I _so_ altered?" she asked, dispiritedly.

She was. But this was certainly no occasion to say so. Will mentally slapped himself, his jaw snapping shut, and he shook his head, an exaggerated look of innocence on his face.

“No, not, not...not at all!” he stuttered.

He tried again.

“No, truly!” he said, his eyes wide, his voice unnaturally high, “Quite the same as ever!”

Why, he wondered, was his blessed oratory, which could free a man in the highest courts in the land, such a complete failure when taxed with this smallest and most forgivable pious perjury? 

These speeches at least did not have the effect he feared. Sarah was not convinced, but she appeared more diverted than offended. She was now regarding him with a mixture of amusement and pity.

Will had no strength for any further attempts, or explanations, and sensing an easier relief to both their respective discomforts, he held out his arms to her and proffered a bashful smile.

Sarah went to him gratefully, fitting herself into his embrace, and fitting him into hers. Her head came to rest on his chest, and his arms encircled her shoulders. They locked together as one, just as they usually did, but had not done for these long months.

Sarah sighed, and Will felt her body press against his, familiar and strange all at the same time. When he had left, Sarah’s condition had been known between them alone. Nothing had been observable under her bodice once her stays had been properly laced, and she had appeared quite as she always had. It was only when Will held her tightly that he could feel their little secret, growing quietly.

But now? There was no hiding it. Sarah was fulsome, flourishing with child. She had hinted as much in her letters, he now realized. Even so, he had not expected this. She was everywhere grown larger, rounder and softer, not only in her abundant belly, but her breasts, her hips, even in her face. Her frame had a plushness, a give, against his own. She felt so different. But oh, how _wonderful_ she felt. He let his hands drift up to caress her neck, running his thumbs along the delicate layer of padding there was now along her jaw. 

Sarah lifted her head to gaze lovingly at his face. She drank in each feature, though Will was certain he looked the same as ever. He could not think why Sarah should be so enthralled, when it was he who had something novel to look at in her countenance. 

As Will moved his fingers along her skin, he could feel how the hollows of her cheekbones had filled out, how her slight smile made her eyes crinkle and her cheeks broaden. Her whole face was warm and glowing. Will found himself move nearer to her lips, wishing to fall into them and be lost forever. Sarah leaned forward, beckoning him to close the distance. He did, and she claimed the remaining space between them, kissing him at once. Will felt a thrill of delight at being hers once more. It felt like when it was new. When he and she had first become lovers, and he could not believe his fortune that he should be kissing Sarah, that such a thing was allowed. 

She pulled away, looking contrite as she spoke, “This is hardly the welcome home you expected, I am sure.”

“What do you mean?” he said. It had begun to answer all his hopes for a most pleasant welcome indeed.

“There is no food. There is no supper for you, and Samuel and I are both out of sorts.”

Will looked over his shoulder at the empty, blanketed table.

“I am sorry, Will, truly. I had planned to have a dish made, something I was certain to get right, something I had practiced. But when I went to get the larder, Samuel was...”

They both looked down at the little boy. Sam was watching them from his hiding place, guilty eyed, one of the ribbons from his frock between his lips.

“He was struggling in my arms. He wanted so much to go running about after being confined to bed for so long. I knew if he did, he was surely to get lost. But he would not stay still. So I put him down for only a moment, to take his hand, and what do you think he did then? He took off running, right into the street.”

Will crossed his arms across his chest and fixed Samuel in a stern look.

“Is this true, Samuel?”

Samuel of course comprehended very little of the content of these speeches, but from his expression, he understood that he’d done something naughty. He would not meet his father’s eyes, but instead hugged Sarah’s leg and buried his face against her, perhaps by way of begging forgiveness.

“That’s not the end,” Sarah said. “I had relieved myself of the basket when I placed Samuel down, so that I might shift them both for a better grip. But when he ran, I went after him at once. And in so leaving the basket behind, I tempted the desperate element of London. So you will not be surprised that after dodging several conveyances to secure my child, I returned with him to find that the basket was stolen.”

Will rubbed her shoulders. “A basket can be replaced; Samuel never could. I would have made the same choice.”

“You don’t understand, Will! There was nearly a crown in there! It was meant to provision us for a week!”

“Well, then it is a very good thing I have returned to bring fresh coin,” he said with a smile, glancing down to his bulging purse. 

She said nothing and looked at her feet.

“Sarah,” he said, squeezing her shoulders again, hoping to assuage some of her feelings of guilt. “It’s only money.”

“How can you say such a thing?” she said, meeting his eyes. “Want of money is what took you away, and now you return to find the rumors are true, and I have been a lickpenny of the highest order.”

Will had to laugh; she was being so absurd. She laughed too, but looked down to the child firmly attached to her leg.

“You must think Samuel is an incurable rascal. Or else that I have no control over him.”

“No indeed, I think nothing of the kind,” Will replied, unable to resist running his hands along her skin once more. “I think he is a spirited lad, blest with a kind mother who has shouldered the responsibility of caring for him in sickness and health all alone these past months, and...” he said, moving his hand down to the generous swell of her belly, amazed by the changes time had wrought, “an additional burden that has only grown more taxing with time.” 

“You mean more enormous,” Sarah laughed, putting her own hand there, with a look of devotion that made Will’s heart soar. She seemed so pleased to be carrying their child. Yet he felt the honor of it was all his.

Will leaned down to kiss her once more, but a growling stomach made him pause, his lips only a short distance away. He was not certain if it had come from her or himself.

“There is no food at all?” William asked, his eyes still on Sarah’s mouth.

“No,” she said. “There was a bit of bread and milk, but I gave it to Samuel for dinner.” 

Will straightened up. “And you have had nothing?”

She hesitated. “No. But you need not--”

He turned at once to snatch up his greatcoat from where it lay on his trunk. 

“Samuel, would you care to go out and help Papa with a few errands?”

“Ouside?” Sam brightened immediately, pulling himself to stand. He nodded vigorously, pointing at the window. “Go ouside?”

“William, you only just returned!” Sarah said. “You must be exhausted from your journey!”

“I am still dressed for to go out,” Will replied, coming back to finish the kiss as he prepared himself for the weather. “I will only be a short time away.”

He scooped up Samuel, who had run over with his cape grasped in one hand and his hat in the other. 

“And I shall take this rascal with me!” Will declared, planting a peck on Samuel’s rosy cheek.

“You do too much,” Sarah began.

“Nonsense. I have not done a single thing for you or the boy in months.” 

Sarah just shook her head, and looked at him in a way that spoke volumes of affection and gratitude. Will took her hand and pulled it to his lips. “Rest now. Have a moment to yourself while we are away, for we shall return before long, and be no end of trouble.” 

Sarah acquiesced and kissed her little treasure goodbye, and the gentlemen set out with a full purse and empty bellies. 

Will clutched Samuel to him, his greatcoat wrapped tightly around them both to keep out the winter chill. The snow had ceased, but it had left the streets buried under a glittering white carpet. Few merchants were about due to the weather, but Will was not fastidious. A maid selling posies was persuaded to part with her basket when he agreed to buy it along with her last wilted bunch of flowers. William pushed a sprig of hellebore through a buttonhole on Samuel’s cape, and saved the rest for the dinner table. He bought the softest bread he could find so late in the day, and an assortment of cheese, two bottles of wine, four apples, cold ham, and a large sack of chestnuts. 

Loaded down with their prizes, Will made for home. Samuel, however, had other ideas. 

“Down! Down pweese!” he pointed at Will’s feet and wriggled in his arms. Will waited until they were in their courtyard and away from the bustle of the street before consenting to this arrangement. 

Samuel began to fly about as soon as his feet touched the ground. He plunged both hands into the snow and then withdrew them, flapping them about with a pained look of confusion. The flower in his buttonhole fell into the snow and became wrinkled as he tried to force it back into place. He held it up to Will to fix, but it was beyond hope. The child’s face began to crumble, and he sat down in a huff, right in the snow. Before it could soak through his gown and stockings, William heaved Samuel upright, brushed him off, and then ran off himself to hide behind the steps of their building. Sam could not resist the game, and so followed with a shriek of delight, the ruined flower and his icy hands forgotten. This continued for some time, until Will really felt the weight of his long journey, and the empty hollow in his guts. 

“Your mama will be wondering where we are,” he told Samuel breathlessly, after the boy found him for the twentieth or so time, throwing himself at his papa bodily, and knocking the wind out of him. Sam seemed to think that no reason at all to put an end to the fun. He stole away once more, so that William was obliged to sweep the child up with a growl, and put him up on his shoulders. The ride and the view it afforded was so delightful, Samuel then consented happily to returning indoors. “I fear we are spoiling you,” Will said as he bent low to climb the stairs. Samuel merely leaned forward and gripped at Will’s chin. 

When they returned to their dwelling, it was to find Sarah seated on the floor, slumped against a leg of the kitchen table, quite fast asleep. 

Will brought Samuel off his shoulders and into the crook of his arm, setting down the basket, and watching her for any signs of stirring. Samuel stared at Sarah, then at William. He raised a finger and pointed to his mother on the floor, and looked back between Sarah and Will meaningfully. Sam didn’t need to say a word. It was clear he meant for Will to do something about this situation at once.

Will set Samuel down, quickly prepared the boy some bread and cheese to nibble on, then moved to do just that. 

Sarah had prepared the kitchen table, folding the blankets of Samuel’s hiding place away, and scrubbing the wood surface clean. She still had the brush in one hand, though it had fallen part way into her lap. Will crouched down. He had urged her to rest, but instead she had been tidying. Will saw now the scrapes on her knuckles, and a healing burn on the bony prominence of her wrist. 

He thought to how fatiguing it had been to entertain Samuel for a mere part of an evening. As if summoned, Sam came forth with a wad of bread in his apple cheek, and leaned on Will’s shoulder. He pointed to Sarah again. 

Will put his finger to his lips, and took the brush out of Sarah’s limp hand. He moved carefully to support her with his arms, having only a guess as to how her weight had changed. He lifted her, pillowing her head against his chest. She reflexively put an arm up around his neck, and said something under her breath.

“What was that?” he whispered.

She made no reply, and Will smiled, realizing she was still quite asleep.

He carried her a few feet to the sofa, and set her down gently. Kneeling by her side, he loosened her stays, and removed the most evident pins from her hair. Tucking blankets in around her, he kissed her at the temple and thought of everything he wanted to say, but could not, for fear of waking her. 

Samuel came over once more and proffered the dregs of his bread. When Will did not take it, he squeezed in between his papa and the sofa, and prepared to put it past his mama’s lips. 

This well-intentioned error on the child's part induced Will to whisk Samuel away to the bedroom, where he divested them both of their wet clothes and hung them near the fireplace to dry. Will, stripped down to his breeches, and Samuel, to his napkin and pilcher, warmed their skins in the glow of the cheerful blaze, while Will began to roast everything in the basket that could be speared upon a fork. 

The smells of melted cheese and roasted chestnuts and apples soon filled the room. 

Sam’s appetite, already whetted by bread, was quickly satisfied, and more food seemed only to spur another burst of activity. Will let him crawl under the bed, and spin around in circles, but he drew the line when Samuel wished to play with the toasting forks next.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing the boy away from the hearth. Samuel whined for a moment, but when Will settled him against his chest, and began patting his back, he calmed almost at once. Considering how much vivacity the child had so lately possessed, it was a surprise to Will to feel the little head droop against his shoulder, as Samuel grew heavier and heavier in his arms. 

“There now. We’ve all had a long day, haven’t we?” Will whispered into Samuel’s dark curls, as he rocked him to and fro. Samuel’s breath came steady and strong, telling Will that he was in a doze and would soon be fast asleep. 

In a few minutes he would rise, and put Samuel into his cradle. Then he would wake Sarah to eat, and after they'd taken their fill, they would ready themselves for bed. And then, Will reckoned, he would have the great pleasure of climbing under his own blankets, and falling asleep holding Sarah in his arms for the first time in months. And so they would remain, and not wake until late the next afternoon. 

These were the last thoughts Will had before his own eyes fell closed, and his head slumped against Samuel’s, joining him in the land of dreams.


	6. Sonnet 116

The next thing Will registered was a kiss to his brow. 

He opened his eyes to see Sarah smiling down at him. She had changed into her nightgown, and her dark hair was tousled, spiraling loosely about her shoulders. She looked even more radiant than ever. With a bountiful figure beneath her flowing white gown, she was the picture of gravid splendor. And she was gazing upon him with such a benevolent expression, Will thought he might still be dreaming.

“If I was not already carrying your child, this sight would make me wish it,” she said.

Will regarded his own state, bare-limbed and bare-chested, with a slumbering boy nestled against his skin. Samuel was, as always, beatific in his repose, flushed with the heat of the fireplace. 

William smiled sleepily. “You are two of a pair. The guardian angel and the cherub.”

Sarah just shook her head and gently lifted Samuel from Will’s shoulder. The boy barely stirred as she took him in her arms and whisked him off to his cradle. 

“You are in a very pleasant humor this evening,” she whispered, putting the sleeping child into his nightgown, and tucking him into bed. 

Will yawned and sat up, stretching. “Why should I not be?” 

“Because I know my son, and he is sure to have given you no rest.” She padded over to William once more, and reached down to caress his face, smiling. “And I am certain you have had little on your journey here.”

Her soft hand against his skin made him suddenly cognizant of the whiskers upon his face. He had not shaved in all the time since leaving Cornwall. Will ran his hand over the wiry growth, then looked to see her begin take down his dried clothing from in front of the fire.

“Sarah, never mind that!” he said with exasperated fondness, tugging at her so she would cease. “I am not the only person in this room so fatigued I fell asleep on the floor.”

She looked sheepish at this recollection.

“Anyway, are you not hungry?” he added.

She smiled, putting a reflexive hand to her belly. “Lately? Always.”

Will took her other hand, and brought her over to sit by the fire, arranging a cushion for her back. Then he speared apples, cheese and bread, and placed more scored chestnuts on the pan, sliding it into the coals. He busied himself with tending to these, sparing glances at Sarah as she looked on in approval.

“It is Shrovetide now, is it not?” he said, handing her a plate of food and taking a sip of wine. “I shall repair to the butchers for some veal tomorrow. Are you fond of Scotch collops?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Well then I shall acquaint you,” he said, folding his bare legs beneath him. “I learnt the recipe from my mother as a boy. If my memory does not disappoint me, I will make a feast for us.”

“Another, then? This here is what I call a feast,” Sarah said, cutting into a piece of ham.

William leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin in hand. Though the words were a farce, her sentiment was sincere. He smiled, glad to be able to provide for Sarah in this small way. Perhaps it was all the time spent away from her, or perhaps it was the sight of her condition so advanced, but his tenderest feelings were remarkably heightened at that moment. He sat contentedly watching her, grateful indeed for the sight of her long-missed face.

They both fell into silence as Sarah ate. She was relishing the little repast Will had prepared, hunger doubtlessly proving the best spice of all. Sarah licked her fingers as the juice of roasted apple dripped onto them, tasting them with noises of supreme satisfaction.

Will stared. The room began to feel very warm. He felt a hunger clench in his belly which had nothing to do with apples, excepting the exquisite shape of Sarah’s lips as she ate them. He mistakenly let his gaze wander, taking in the maternal fullness of her breasts beneath the diaphanous material of her nightgown.

“Mmm,” she sighed, her head tipping back as she sampled from her plate with relish.

“I need to shave,” he announced suddenly. He stood at once and rubbed his hand along the side of his breeches. He had balled it into a fist without realizing.

Sarah looked up at him in confusion. “You aren’t eating?”

“I’ve already had my fill,” he said, turning away hurriedly. “You...you enjoy it.”

Will placed the kettle on the hearth, took out his shaving case, and began to pour out cold water from the bedside pitcher.

“I would enjoy it more with company,” Sarah replied with a hopeful smile.

Will arranged the strop, brush and whetstone around the basin, glad for something to do with his hands. “I am afraid I make poor company in such shabby condition,” he said, running the backs of his fingers along his stubble.

Sarah sighed. “You know with me it does not signify.” 

Will turned to the looking-glass. His own travel-worn face stared back. Behind him, he could see Sarah nibbling on a chestnut, watching him with a peculiar expression. He turned away. Even in the most innocuous activity, she roused his mutinous, yearning body. 

He cupped both hands into the basin and splashed cold water across his face, then dipped them in again, this time letting the water run down his shoulders and back. He could feel a drop of water slowly follow the curve of his spine, all the way down, until it made him shiver and was shaken off.

Which was just what he needed. 

He examined the razor for any dulling, then came back to the hearth to retrieve the kettle, and a candle from the bedside. 

“I neglected earlier, to ask how you are faring,” he said, determined to steer his thoughts to safer territory. His razor was already sharp, but he ran it a few times across the oiled whetstone.

“Well,” was all the response she gave.

Will tried again, pouring out the hot water from the kettle. “You have seen to everything while I was away. I think you will have scarcely noticed my absence.” 

She said nothing.

He swallowed, continuing to set his blade by pulling it rhythmically across the strop, throwing his muscles into the motion. “And how progresses the pregnancy? Have you been given much trouble by our...little chick--” 

His hand froze on the strop. He dropped his razor. It fell onto the boar-bristle shaving brush and clattered against the side of the basin. 

Sarah’s hands were clutching at his ribs, her fingers combing through the thatch of hair on his belly, her arms boldly seizing his waist. She placed kisses along his spine, greedy kisses between his shoulderblades that made no pretense about their desire.

Will sighed, grasping her hands in his own. He could not yet believe she meant by doing this what he wished she would mean by it. 

“I shan’t be able to keep the blade steady,” he warned, his voice thick.

She continued to kiss his back, circling her hands across his skin. “That can wait until tomorrow, surely?”

Will turned around slowly in Sarah’s arms. He brought his own arms around her in a full embrace. Leaning down to taste her apple-sweet mouth, Will drew her to him for a long while before putting his hands to her shoulders, pausing for a moment the head of steam building behind his ardor. 

“Sarah,” he spoke her name reverently. “Whilst I was away...I was in such need of you. More so than I betrayed in my letters.” 

Sarah looked up at him with eyes darkened by desire. Her gaze shifted to the tenting of his breeches and back again, with a triumphantly raised eyebrow.

“I thought as much.”

He chuckled, then ran his hands down to capture her fingers in a lazy clasp.

“You know that’s not--”

“I know,” she assured him. “But was it not a part of it?”

Will cast his eyes down, smiling in assent. He looked back to her earnestly, and put his hands to her belly. 

“Is it safe?”

Sarah sighed and pursed her lips. “William...” 

He knew even before he spoke the words what her reply would be, but he could not but wonder aloud. He raised his hands in surrender, and then put them to better use, caressing Sarah’s neck and face, burying his fingers in her hair, as he leaned in to meet her lips. 

Sarah’s hands were at his hips, tickling his skin, slipping teasing fingers into the waistband. 

She pulled back suddenly. “Though if you wish to be absolutely certain, I suppose we must halt at once. We’ll wait until this child is born. And then of course two months more at least...” she said. “You did know that after the birth there can be none of this for quite some time?”

Will did recollect that now, though she had turned his thoughts to other matters. 

“Yes, I am aware of that,” he purred in her ear. “Just as I am aware, madam, that you are teasing. But I shall not be cruel and tease you in return by calling your bluff.” 

He began to steer her towards the bed. 

Something flashed across her face then, only for a moment, before she leaned past him to blow out the candle by the washbasin. 

Will turned. The room had only slightly darkened by the extinguishing of a single candle, so he was at a loss as to why she’d done it. But Sarah resumed their progress, pulling him towards the bed, cupping his arse with both hands.

She sat down on the edge and quickly unbuttoned his breeches, pushing them down past his hips. As he moved to step out of them, she stroked his shaft, and Will moaned, leaning down to kiss her and attend to her clothing. 

His hands traveled to the yoke of her nightgown, venturing underneath, into new territory. She sighed into his lips as he sat down next to her and cradled her full breast, his fingers brushing the top of her belly. With his other hand, he untied the ribbon, and pushed the gown off her shoulders. 

“No.”

She said the word quietly, so quietly he might not have heard, but for the way her hand went to seize the yoke of her gown and pull it around her breasts.

Will leaned back in surprise, taking his hands away. A thousand different thoughts went through his mind. It occurred to him suddenly, that apart from his whiskery face, he also had not washed properly since leaving Bodmin. At once he concluded that he carried an unpleasant odor of perspiration and horses. 

But Sarah said nothing of this. Instead, she shrugged the nightgown over her shoulders once more and said, “Leave it on?” 

Her hands went to either side of his face and kissed him soundly. Will kept his own hands to himself until he pieced together what had just transpired. The candle she had extinguished. It seemed reasonable to assume that Sarah did not wish him to see her body in its pregnant state. There was no question of denying her wish, though he was curious as to the reason for it, and anxious that he might assure her of the abundant charms held by her form. But at present, it fell to him merely to accept and to conquer his disappointment. 

Gently, he reached for her once more. Sarah moved into his arms, sighing with pleasure against his lips, and she reached out to stroke his cock again. He hesitated, before slipping his hand beneath her skirt. She did not pull away, so he continued upward, until his fingers found her quim, and began their own amorous ministrations. He began more slowly than usual, uncertain how far this diffidence of Sarah’s extended. But she seemed to relish it. Will immediately noticed that she was far wetter than usual; his fingers were soaked long before he thought it possible to rouse her excitement. 

He put his fingers in his mouth and sucked experimentally, tasting her juices. Since she had become with child, the flavor had altered. She tasted stronger now, and sweeter. He ducked his head, eager to reacquainted himself, to put his lips and tongue to work where his hand had been. 

Sarah caught him by the shoulders and raised him up again, shaking her head. She was silent for a beat, and then, “It’s not good for the baby.”

This sounded to his ears like an excuse rather than a medical fact. He could not think why she would choose to deprive them both of something that brought such mutual pleasure. Unless she could not stand the thought of his scratchy face and pungent odor near her delicate parts? Sarah was quick to make him forget his disappointment, however, as she kissed his lips with fervor.

She rose up on her knees and pulled him down to lie on the bed.

Will flopped on his back with a noise of glee he made no effort to hide. He wiggled his hips to settle himself further onto the bed, which caused his stiff cock to wave about impertinently. Sarah giggled at his eagerness, and sat back, surveying his body with satisfaction. This was followed on however, by a more sober look, and she bit her lip and hesitated, her hand massaging the muscles of his belly. 

He held his arms out for her. Sarah bent down and kissed him, then sighed, righted up, and resumed her pensive expression. 

Will could not take this anticipation. “Tell me true. I still smell of horse dung, do I not?”

“Will!” she laughed, the cloud behind her eyes clearing somewhat. “No, you do not. Nor have you.”

“Then what is the matter?” he said genially, his hands making beckoning motions. 

She leaned down again, but less purposefully, almost collapsing against his chest.

“You are so lovely,” she sighed lamentably against his skin.

He chuckled, then raised her head in his hands so she would look at him. “If this be so, surely it should not be _distressing_ to you?”

She did not reply.

“So...are you _not_ to have your way with me, then?” he huffed impatiently.

She laughed out loud, and seemed to cheer.

“I am perfectly serious,” he replied, hoping to continue the lightened mood. “I have been waiting ever so patiently for you to ravish me. You have not done so, and I must therefore assume it is a personal defect of mine which prevents it.”

A number of thoughts seemed to pass behind Sarah’s eyes, before she answered. In the end she chose a saucy remark, leaning down to whisper it in his ear.

She kissed his mouth before he could reply, which was convenient, for her words had made his mind go quite blank. Hastily, he helped lift her atop him, his arms beneath her thighs, his hands holding her bare backside. Venus herself could not be formed to such perfection, Will thought, as he squeezed her arse, grasping at the curve of her low-slung hips.

He let her choose the moment to reach down and take him inside. There were so many places he wanted to touch and kiss her, so many novel and long-denied sensations, that he was quite happy for her to take her time. 

Sarah proved more impatient than he. They moaned in unison as she fitted their bodies together. Her hips began to move against his, and Will gave himself up to his delightful repose. The weight of her belly rested against his waist as he rolled his hips gently against hers. Far from feeling it an inconvenience, Will thought it only added to the coziness of their embrace. He laid one hand upon it, feeling its roundness beneath her nightgown. He mused upon the notion of many such nights as this one, with her burgeoning belly between them, and their children sleeping in the next room. Such a thing would require them to conceive again. Will concluded suddenly that he very much wanted more children. A large family. Though he had given little thought to it before, Sarah, grown big with his child, swiving atop him, convinced him of its great advantages. 

Sarah sighed, breaking his reverie. It was not a sigh of pleasure, but of frustration.

His hands stilled. “What’s the matter?”

She stopped. “This won’t succeed.”

He stopped himself from replying. If he had, it would have been to say that if she continued, it would certainly succeed with him.

Sarah climbed off of him then, and sat back on her heels, pondering. Will propped himself up on his elbows and waited for her to speak again.

She did not.

He cleared the fog in his brain. She had not been taking pleasure in it, but his own had prevented him from noticing? Will sat up, and reached out to her, stroking her leg, attempting to ignore the frustrated desire throbbing between his legs. “Come. It is no matter. We are both in need of rest above all other things.”

“You wish not to continue?” she asked.

He stared. “I would have thought that was your wish.”

Sarah shook her head, but still looked uneasy.

“Everything is...” she gestured with a flat hand between her legs. “...lowered. And rather...sensitive.”

Of course, he thought, how could he have not anticipated how different it would be for her? “But this sensitivity,” he said, delicately choosing her own word, “It does not nullify your interest in continuing?”

“No. No, my mind is quite fixed on the notion,” she declared with a smile, holding her head high. She looped her arms around his neck, running covetous fingers through his hair. “If your aim is the same?”

William grinned. He was gratified indeed to know that she wanted this as much as he. Whether it was pride or some other feeling, he knew he could not continue if he thought she were only doing it to make him happy. 

“You shall have to take over from here, I think,” she said.

He squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head. “I shall try my best,” he laughed, then leaned down to look at her with an impish smile. “It will be my pleasure.”

Their lips met, reigniting any spark that had been lost by the awkwardness of the exchange. The small part of Will’s mind not engaged by the silkiness of Sarah’s skin, or the sweet taste of her lips, turned to practicalities. Namely, how he was to succeed in their coupling. He could not be atop her if their bodies were parallel. He had felt it was dangerous even when she was newly with child, though Sarah had scoffed at the notion. But now it was quite impossible. So they must be at angles. He dismissed immediately the idea of her being on hands and knees. It would not be, he felt, a very gentle position for her, especially as she had mentioned a lowering of her inner parts. There seemed to be only one possibility.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and drew her to its edge. She dropped one hand from around his shoulders and pushed down the fabric of her nightgown where it rode up. Noticing this, he pulled away for a moment. She looked at him with wide eyes. Will considered that it might be right to speak now, to demand a reason for her strange, needless modesty. But something in her expression stilled his voice.

Instead he cupped Sarah’s cheek briefly, then grabbed the pillows, and quickly arranged them for her to lie her head and lower back upon. Sarah put her hands to Will’s face and kissed him, pulling him towards her as he stood next to the bed. He laid her down tenderly, propping her upon the pillows. 

Cautiously, he eased himself inside her, careful to keep his movements gentle and shallow.

Sarah stretched her fingers to rest on his naked belly, her tongue darting out briefly as she stroked the taut skin there. He moaned as her touch made the muscles quiver. 

“S’agreeable?” he slurred through heavy breaths.

She nodded. “Mmm.”

Almost as soon as he had begun to move, although the feelings of pleasure were building, he noted a problem. He was too tall. He had to bend his knees to meet her hips, and with each thrust they hit the side of the bed.

He paused and withdrew. A noise of disappointment escaped Sarah’s throat, and so he put his arms under her shoulders, kissed her ear, and whispered of his intentions.

“Hold to me,” he said.

She held fast, and he hiked her up the bed so that he could kneel upon it in front of her. He spread his thighs into a V and rested her legs onto his own. He shifted a pillow to fill the gap beneath her hips.

This was much more congenial.

William leaned forward, careful to keep his weight off her body, and kissed her neck, sucking gently at the delicate skin there. Sarah’s hands were everywhere on his body, cradling the back of his head, then urging on his hips. Her desire was his greatest amative. To be loved and wanted by his lady was to put him on the path towards the precipice, and she was holding him with a possessiveness he found exhilarating. 

As it continued, however, Will noted an abatement of this enthusiasm, and he raised his gaze to hers.

She no longer appeared to be altogether engaged by it. Indeed, she looked quite distracted, as if she were puzzling over a particularly dense passage in her book. There was an expression of bemused forbearance in her features.

He halted at once. “Sarah. Are you in pain?”

“No...Not in _pain_ ,” she said, prevaricating.

So, Will thought, he was not the only unconvincing liar this night. He favored her with a look of disbelief, and let his hips slide back, springing out of her. 

She breathed out loudly. “Only, it is lately difficult for me to lie upon my back for long. It is not painful, but my legs are cramping, and presently given over to pins and needles.”

“Whyever did you not say?” Will said, aghast. He helped her to sit up.

“I thought it would not be so bad,” she said. ”I resolved it ought to be attempted, in any case.”

“We can surely aim a little higher than ‘ _not so bad_!’” Will sighed as she bent and extended her leg, massaging the cramp. It seemed impossible to find a way that was comfortable for her. It was a hopeless business.

“You wish to cease,” she said said morosely, guessing his thoughts.

He bent to kiss her shoulder. “We might attempt other things instead,” he said. “Other ways of finding gratification, if you wish it still.” 

Sarah looked even more despondent. 

“Well,” he asked, stroking her hair, “What do you propose? For I am out of ideas.” 

She looked to him with a hopeful glint in her eyes. 

“Lay down with me,” she said.

Sarah then turned and lay down on the bed, facing away from him. He did as she bade, resting behind her, spoons fashion.

“This is snug,” he remarked, drawing his arms around her.

“Mmm, yes,” she answered, hugging his forearms tightly to her chest. She tilted her hips back against his.

A tiny “Oh” escaped his lips, and he began to move his body in time with hers. 

Sarah reached between her legs and seized him. While Will’s mind had accepted the likelihood of remaining unsuccessful in their endeavors, his member had continued to be all the while unflaggingly hopeful, and thus did not require the least preparation. He canted his hips forward to meet hers as their bodies came together once more.

“You will tell me if this is not to your satisfaction,” he enquired, his thighs pressed flush against hers, his thrusts shallow, owing to the position of their bodies.

Sarah’s breathy, distracted, “Uh-huh” was all the affirmation he needed. 

Will smiled proudly against the nape of her neck. This was ideal, he thought, one free hand turning Sarah’s cheek so he could lean over and kiss her mouth, the other sliding up her gown, up between her legs. She arched against him, and his knuckle found the tiny source of her delight. He held his hand close there, letting her decide when to rub herself against it, choosing the time and intensity to suit her building need. 

He could sense the slow blossoming of her peak, each exhalation a short huff of breath that told him of her ascent. He could not look at her face, knowing what her expression of ecstasy, her contracted brow and open mouth, would do to his resolve. Will wanted to give her time to ride it out to the full, not to tumble over immediately.

She gave a weak little moan, but the tension in her body was still thick. He persisted, and persisted. Her hand scrabbled against his hip, urging him on, spurring on his desire to finish with her, but he persisted still. He heard an animal-like groan, but could not say if it was hers or his own.

Finally, her head dropped back against his shoulder, and she went limp, absolutely boneless against him. With a grunt, he lifted the floodgates, ceased to hold himself back. His release tore into him like a hurricane, the muscles of his belly contracting painfully, as the pleasure of his climax shot up his spine. He fell forward into the joint of her exposed neck, needing her support as much as she was relying on his. 

He released a long sigh as he felt himself pulse inside her. The sounds of their contented breaths gradually slowed. 

“You...” he began. Nothing followed. Nothing could complete the sentence to his satisfaction. He laid kisses on her neck, unable to lift his head to kiss anywhere else.

Sarah began to giggle. “I was wrong.”

“Mmm?” hummed William, wrapping his arms tighter around her, cuddling her belly.

“About my promise to you earlier,” she replied, breathing heavy. “You have turned the tables on me.” 

Will cast his mind back to what she had whispered to him, before they began. “I do intend to have my way with you,” she had warned sensually into his ear. “Until you can no longer _stand_.” 

He laughed. “No, you have quite succeeded in doing as you promised to me, as--”

He stopped. Something hard was nudging his hand. Something that was clearly... _moving_. 

Sarah turned slightly. “Oh, you can feel that too now?”

“Is that--?”

“Mm hmm. After all this, he’s woken up.”

Will experienced the movement in her womb with a mixture of awe, to be feeling his child’s limbs for the first time, and horror, at the idea of their little one as witness to what just passed between them.

“It is bound to happen whenever my heart races,” she explained, taking his hand and placing it firmly against her belly. “Here is a foot.” She lowered his hand once more. “Here...no, he’s moved again. _Here_ is the head.”

Will laughed, cradling the head of their child against his palm for a moment, until it shifted away once more. Knowing there was a growing infant in Sarah’s belly was one thing. Feeling its body move, solid under his own hand, was quite another. It all felt so much more real. 

“This is the best time for it. Very soon he’ll grow too large to move a great deal. Although I’m sure you do wonder how I could possibly get any bigger!” 

Will considered her for a moment. “My reply comes in three parts.”

“Oh dear.” 

“Firstly, you do not know it is a ‘he.’”

“Oh, I know. I suppose it is a habit because my only child is a boy. And because I feel this one will be another.” 

He nodded. “Second, you are exactly the size you should be.”

She did not reply, but he was not expecting one. 

“Third,” he said softly, slipping the fabric of the nightgown between his thumb and forefinger, “Do you wish to tell me about this?”

Sarah let out a long sigh. He’d been expecting that response as well. 

She turned her head back to look at him. “Things are...not as I would have them be. I had prefered not to have any more looks of dismay from you this evening.”

He frowned, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Do not deny it, Will,” she said with a sad smile. “You are sweet to pretend, but I saw your face when first you saw me.”

“I will deny it; I was not dismayed!”

She scoffed and looked away.

“Indeed!” he said. He took hold of her hand, and nodded, conceding to part of her suspicions. “I will own that I was certainly surprised. In truth...you have altered.”

Her eyes came back to his.

“Of course you have,” he said soothingly. “But it does not follow that the alteration must be unwelcome.”

She still looked unconvinced.

“You...are radiant. You make a splendid picture of motherhood. If I was dismayed, it was at the realization at how much of it I have missed.” He ran a hand along her belly.

“Oh Will. You missed costiveness, and night sweats and wind...all those parts of motherhood that men do not wish to know about.”

Sarah sat up with some difficulty, and gazed at William with fondness. She began to stroke his hair. 

“Can you not see? I wished for you to look at me as I was. To _be_ as I was, if only for a short while. Not as the waddling hen I feel like these days, nor the hallowed vessel to your child. Though I am glad of carrying our baby, Will, do not mistake me. But I wanted for one night, to be your Sarah again. I wanted to feel...desirable again.”

“You feel very desirable, I assure you,” Will said, intentionally mistaking her meaning so he could run his hands all over her satiny skin. “How you could have missed my desiring you? I thought it very evident.” 

He sat up and leaned in to kiss her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I do not think there is anything that could prevent it.”

“You will change your tune,” she replied, nodding to the bedside table. “If you light the candle.”

He did so, anticipation building, as she untied the ribbon at her neck. She put her hands to her hem and began to draw it up, but paused.

“Well. Prepare yourself.”

She pulled the nightgown over her head.

Will’s eyes took in the delightful roundness of her belly and breasts. He was somewhat sensible of the darkening of her nipples, and a line stretching from her navel to the nest of curls between her legs. For a moment, he thought this was the source of her inexplicably embarrassment, and thought it a perfect opportunity to speak of his raptures at her gravid splendor.

But then he saw it. He startled, shocked to his core.

“I did warn you,” she said, shrugging.

“But...you have caught Samuel’s disease!”

The candlelight illuminated many angry red eruptions along the sides of her belly, some even extending down to her thighs.

“You swore you had not!” Will cried.

“Shh!” Sarah said, “putting a calming hand to his. “I have not.”

“But--”

“I did speak with the doctor. When it first appeared, I was of course, quite in a panic. But he assured me that it was not measles, or sickness of any kind. I have had it these two weeks, and I do not feel ill at all.”

William stared at her warily.

She tutted. “Do you truly think I would put you in harm’s way? Doctor Sims was quite certain. He called it: ‘A classic case of the Urticarias of Confinement’ and he did prescribe a bland diet, fresh air, and dandelion root tea with liniment for the itch.”

She pointed at a jar on the nightstand. Will looked from it, to Sarah’s belly, and back again.

“Fear not,” she said, drawing in on herself uncomfortably. “It only looks horrid. It is not catching.”

Will was sensible of having backed away from Sarah in his alarm, and recollected that he had just given her the very reaction she’d been dreading.

He reached out to pull her into an embrace. Kissing her temple, he sighed in relief.

“You are truly not ill? You are not merely saying this to placate me?”

He felt her shake her head, and her arms came around to hold him to her.

“I am sorry that you are plagued with this,” he whispered. She was quiet. A thought occurred to him, and he chuckled.

“What is it?” she said, looking up into his face.

“It’s only that...this is a condition is exclusive to expectant women?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, by rights you should be furious with me.”

Sarah smiled, then nodded thoughtfully. “Very true.” She leaned her head back, gazing at him fondly with her sweet smile, making Will feel the most fortunate man in the world.

“But even at its most agonizing,” she said, “I could not be.”

Will ran his fingers along her belly, feeling the raised bumps on her skin.

“Is it agony now?”

“No, not especially,” she said, “A few days of the tea and it was only a bit bothersome. But I am to apply the salve twice daily, and with everything that has happened, I have neglected to do so this night.”

Will reached across and grabbed the jar before she could say another word. The liniment smelled of earth and starch. Spreading it along her skin gave him opportunity to look at and touch her belly, so he was only too happy to do so. He traced the vertical dark line from her navel - which, instead of its usual inward configuration, now protruded outward - down to the hair between her legs, and continued to apply along her thighs. 

“And this is why you did not want my face down here?” he said, rubbing salve into the rash. “I thought it was my whiskers.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “On the contrary. I imagine they would provide a delightful tickle.”

Will grinned. As he applied the liniment on the top of her belly, he felt the unfamiliar heft of her breasts against the back of his hand, and turned his attention there. He had known them ever so well, how they fit perfectly into the palms of his hands. He had fallen asleep pillowed upon one, with his hand covering the other, many times before. Now they were transformed, into a means to nourish their child. His hand began to circle lovingly, to lift them, to press and methodically stroke the slippery salve into her skin. 

“I was not aware the eruptions had spread there,” Sarah said playfully.

Will looked at her with an impish smile and replied, “One can never be too careful.”

“Hmm,” Sarah said. “Well, at least I am told it will clear after the little one is born.

“Only three months now.”

Sarah stared at him.

“Will...It is not much above six weeks.”

It was William’s turn to stare. “No...I’m sure you are wrong.” But even as he spoke, he began to see that he was in error.

“Tomorrow is Shrove Tuesday, as you said yourself. March begins in only two days; then it will be April.”

She was, of course, right. 

“This child could decide not to even wait so long as that,” she added, grabbing a rag from the bedside table to give to Will. 

William sat back, cleaning his hands, as Sarah closed the jar of liniment and began to shrug on her nightgown once more. He watched her, stunned at how the time had gotten away from him. The winter had been so harsh and interminable. With the snow falling outside, it was difficult to imagine that the budding leaves of April would soon be upon them. But the frost could not last. Spring would arrive ere long. And so would their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible meany, and gave Sarah PUPPP. But I also gave her a mild case, and a very awesome doctor, who knows his remedies. People still swear by dandelion root for it.


End file.
